


Sir

by kedgeree



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, And they're on a plane, Flash Fic, Fluff, John is a BAMF, M/M, Meet-Cute, Sherlock is a Brat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 00:19:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14532570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kedgeree/pseuds/kedgeree
Summary: Sherlock Holmes, world's greatest detective and world's worst airline passenger, meets John Watson, airline captain and world's greatest everything.





	Sir

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mary_Jane221B](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mary_Jane221B/gifts).



> For MJ221B - I hope it brightens your day a little! ❤ 
> 
> This is a flash fic based on three random words: preference / concession / aviation

"This way, Mr. Holmes." The blue-uniformed flight attendant motioned him to his seat. "We've made every effort, per our instructions, to make your flight as comfortable as possible. The in-flight entertainment system is—"

"That won't be necessary." Sherlock flicked a glance over the private first class compartment. Leather seat, wide table. Adequate. "I'll be working."

"Of course, sir. Can I get you—"

"An absence of interruptions would be lovely." Sherlock scooped the fluffy white blanket and pillow off his chair and shoved them into her arms to take away. 

 

*

 

"Sir? The captain has requested that seat belts be fastened for take-off. For passenger safety."

"No."

The flight attendant was silent for a moment. "But, sir—"

Sherlock sighed. "It will crease the suit. No."

"Sir, it's for—"

" _No_."

 

*

 

"Sir? Would you prefer the beef bourguignon or the chicken kiev?"

Sherlock clenched his teeth. "Neither."

The blue uniform hovered at his elbow, apparently for the purpose of dithering. "If you'd prefer something not on our menu, we'd be happy to—"

"No. As I've stated quite clearly already, nothing."

"Something to drink, perhaps?"

Sherlock slapped his mobile down on top of the map of Prague spread across his tray table. "Nothing. Nothing to drink. Nothing to eat. No coffee. No champagne. No crisps. No dessert. No hot towels. No extra blanket. No headphones. No in-flight entertainment. Nothing. I am _working_."

"Of course." The blue uniform moved blessedly away. " _Sir_."

 

*

 

"Sir? Perhaps you missed the announcement. We're beginning our descent shortly."

"Finally," Sherlock murmured, tracing a finger over the route from the British Embassy to the Embassy of Japan. Obvious, really, where the documents were most likely to be found—there were only three possible locations that Czerny could have stashed them. And the guard's body, of course.

"The captain has requested passengers turn off all mobile devices."

"Yes, of course," said Sherlock, bringing up an app with the local tram schedules. On the night route, if he'd timed it properly, Czerny could have slipped into either the church or—Sherlock rolled his eyes—of course there was a Starbucks.

"Such as your mobile phone. Sir."

"Mm." A pet shop specializing in exotic birds was also a possibility. Sherlock brought up both the Starbucks' and the shop's hours on-screen and began typing a quick text to Mycroft.

 

*

 

_"Miluji dobr_ _ý koblih. Miluji—"_ Sherlock was rehearsing a few necessary phrases using his translation app when his mobile was snatched from his hand. "Do you mind?"

"I do, actually."

Sherlock turned a glare on grey-blond hair and a stern face and frowned, at least eighty-two percent certain the blue uniform in front of him did not contain the same attendant who had been annoying him throughout the flight. The voices were different, for one thing.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes." The man's smile was calmer than his eyes, his voice pleasant. "I'm Captain John Watson. And I've requested all passengers turn off their mobile devices."

"I was _using_ that."

"And now you aren't." The man pressed the power button on Sherlock's phone. "For passenger safety."

"Don't be tedious," Sherlock snapped. "Captain Watson, if you're in charge of this aircraft, you are acquainted with the man who arranged this flight."

"I am."

"And if you are acquainted with the man who arranged this flight, then you are most certainly aware that man would never arrange a flight that could be endangered in any way by a _mobile phone_."

"I am."

"And that such a man's passenger would be entitled to certain concessions due to the nature and importance of the work your transport facilitates." Sherlock rose from his seat, holding his palm out expectantly. "Need I carry this line of reasoning to its conclusion for you, Captain?"

"Perhaps you should allow me, Mr. Holmes, as you don't seem to have reached the correct conclusion on your own."

Sherlock's jaw dropped at the sheer gall as the captain pocketed his phone.

"If you," Captain Watson continued, "are acquainted with the man who arranged this flight, then you are most certainly aware that the person he'd entrust this aircraft to would indeed be, as you put it, in charge. And completely capable of managing any unruly passengers—"

"Unruly?! I simply asked to be left alone!"

"—who refuse to wear their seat belts, turn off their phones, or—most importantly—to treat their flight attendants with even the smallest amount of courtesy."

"Give me my phone!"

" _Sit down_."

The back of Sherlock's knees hit his chair and he flopped down into the leather, a hot chill shivering down his belly, and _what_?

"Put on your seat belt."

Sherlock's arms obeyed in slow motion. The metal buckle fastened with a _click_.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes." Captain Watson's dark eyes drifted to the buckle and then jerked away. He licked his lips. "Sarah," he called over his shoulder. "Would you please let First Officer Stamford know we can prepare for descent now. I'll be right there."

The flight attendant gave Sherlock a rather smug look. "Of course, sir."

 

*

 

"Goodbye, sir," said Flight Attendant Sarah a bit too brightly. "We hope you've had a pleasant flight."

"I might have done, if I'd only had a few more hot towels or servings of chicken kiev."

"A wise decision not to risk soiling your lovely suit. Though it does seem to be a bit creased."

"And speaking of creased, where is your illustrious Captain? More to the point, where is my phone?"

"I turned it back on. You've had two texts." Captain Watson's voice came from behind him, and Sherlock turned to see his mobile held out on offer. "I didn't read them, of course, but the alerts were interesting. A barking dog?"

Sherlock took the phone and smirked as he thumbed to Mycroft's messages. "Corgi. Actually."

"Well." Captain Watson cleared his throat. "Enjoy your time in Prague, Mr. Holmes."

"I'm not here for pleasure."

"'Enjoy your time' is a thing polite people say."

"You aren't a polite person." Sherlock glanced down the captain's body. "You're a person who's going to be bored waiting around for a return flight. And you're ex-military. And you're a doctor. And you're wasted shuttling passengers and hot towels back and forth for my brother."

"How could you possibly know that? Did _he_ tell you?" The captain's eyes had gone wide, his jaw tight. "He warned me about you, you know."

"I wish he had warned me about you," Sherlock sighed. It was already too late, though. His arms had broken out in gooseflesh. His whole body felt hot. He was ready to run. And he wanted, even more than to find a body, to hear _down_ growled in his ear again.

"What?"

"I had some time to think, without my phone. I thought about you."

The captain flushed.

Perhaps Sherlock was in Prague for pleasure after all.

"Captain Watson, do you enjoy exotic birds?" Sherlock held out his hand. "Or coffee?"

He could get John to buy him a cup while he broke into the church.


End file.
